Scattershot

Funny or offensive?

I'm always amazed at how people are so different when it comes to what offends them. This weekend, I checked out two sets of CDs from the library so that my husband and I could listen on our way to the mountains. One set was by George Carlin, and the other was by Lewis Black. Now I've seen both on TV at various times and found them often foul-mouthed but often quite funny, so I thought it would be a nice diversion.

     Wrong. Neither my husband nor I could believe how UN-funny the CDs were. In fact, we couldn't bear to listen to them and gave up. It wasn't the language that offended us. It was the total lack of cleverness or humor. We were completely surprised at how much we didn't like them.

     Last night, however, we found people offended by, well, puppet sex. We were attending a performance of Avenue Q in Denver, and before the show I started chatting with the older couple who often sits next to us. They mentioned that they had walked out of shows twice in their lives. Once, a show in New York turned out to involve all naked men. Once, in Denver, they walked out of Rent at intermission because they had no idea what was going on. (They had neglected to follow the usher's very pointed advice to read the synopsis beforehand.)

     Well, last night they walked out for a third time. They disappeared at intermission and didn't come back. We think it was the puppet sex. At one point the puppets on stage engage in very vigorous and extremely funny sex. The audience was in stitches.

     Or maybe the couple was offended by the unrequited love of two gay puppets in the show.

     I don't think it was the occasional "F" word, as every Broadway show seems to have that.

     At any rate, they weren't laughing, and they didn't stick around. I was surprised. This quirky, delightfully funny show seems so un-offensive to me. My husband and I absolutely loved it, and we'll go again first chance we get.

     But you never know about offensiveness. Puppet sex seems to have offended the couple. Not being funny when you're trying to be is a whole lot more offensive to me.

Accordion bashing

It's been a bad couple of days for my beloved instrument, the accordion. First, I was busy editing a book my company is going to publish, and I read that the author suggests making characters interesting by adding specific details, which she calls "adding something weird." Sadly, her long list of examples of "something weird" included "plays the accordion."

     If that weren't enough, I picked up a Sunday supplement magazine and read about punishment inflicted on people who violate the noise ordinance in Fort Lupton, Colorado, by blaring music from their cars. They are sentenced to listen to music they don't like. The young offenders get a heavy dose of Wayne Newton, Dean Martin, and polka music.

     Okay, they didn't say "polka music with accordions," but I guess they didn't have to.

     I just know that, if I'm patient enough and live long enough, I'm going to open the newspaper someday and see headlines like, "Angelina Jolie plays accordion in new film. Accordion sales go through roof." Or, "High School Musical VII features accordion band. Kids across nation clamoring for lessons." Or, "What's out: electric guitars. What's in: accordions."

     It could happen...

You're so vain...

The news is out. According to this morning's newspaper, Warren Beatty has admitted that the song "You're So Vain" is about him. Big surprise.

     I've always disliked that song. Carly Simon sings, "You're so vain, you probably think this song is about you." Yet the song is about him, so how is that vain? I've never understood that. I also never understood the significance of the guy in the song being with "the wife of a postman." Then, only a couple of years ago, I found out that he's really with "the wife of a close friend."

 Like most of us, I sometimes hear song lyrics incorrectly. (There's even a word for this: mondegreen.) When the Bee Gees sing the line "more than a woman," I always think they're singing "bald-headed woman." And when others hear the Rolling Stones sing, "Hey, hey, you, you, get off of my cloud," I hear "Hey, hey, you, you, get off of my clown." I rather like the image I've always had of people jumping up and down on an annoying clown.

     My most mysterious encounter with misheard lyrics happened a few years ago. I was talking to two teachers in Texas who were looking at a book I've written with a chapter about misheard song lyrics. The chapter title is, "The Girl with Colitis Goes By."

     The teachers saw that headline and gasped, closing the book immediately. "Oh, we could never use this book in our district!" one of them said.

     I could tell they weren't kidding. I said something like, "Why not? It's about song titles that...."

     "No, no," they interrupted, shaking their heads and quickly moving on, as if my very presence was a danger to them. "You don't know our district."

     It's been years now, and I'm still wondering about that encounter. Is colitis a shameful disease in Texas? Or what?

The trouble with jokes

I don't like jokes.

     There. I've confessed. I probably sound like a humorless old schoolmarm, but it's true.

     My problem may have started when I worked at Griff's Burger Bar in college. One day when business was slow, the other girl working with me at the counter told me a joke. I decided to reciprocate with the funniest joke I knew (and the only one I knew). I called it the "Virginia Peep-a-leen-ee" joke, and it was foolproof. Whenever my boyfriend told it, people cracked up.

     I got to the punchline, and the girl looked at me blankly. She didn't even know it was the punchline. I tried to explain. She still didn't get it. Not knowing if she was just the thickest person on earth or I was simply the worst joke teller, I made a decision, right then and there, not to tell jokes, period.

     And I don't. Partly, I admit, it's because I can't remember them. There's a funny joke about someone falling out of an airplane and big hands and, I think, God and Buddha, and for a while it was a joke I remembered. Now the only thing I remember about it is that it made me laugh.

     Another problem is that I'm a visual learner. I don't absorb things well by listening. The second someone starts to tell a joke, I get nervous. Will I recognize the punch line? Will I get it? Will it be about sports, in which case there is no chance I'll get it? If I don't get it, should I pretend to get it? And what if I've already heard it? Should I tell the person? Or should I act like it's new to me? (I've tried telling people I've heard their joke. They always tell the joke anyway. What is the joke etiquette then? Am I still required to laugh?)

     Jokes at parties are the worst. I remember a perfectly lovely dinner party a few years ago, with interesting people and wonderful conversation. I was enjoying it immensely. Then one of the men told a joke, and that was it. Everyone else had to tell what they thought was an even better joke, and all conversation stopped. The evening changed from being about people to being about jokes.

     Even worse, a party with joke-telling invariably includes someone who tells a joke with subtle or even not-so-subtle racist or sexist overtones. No one wants to take time at a party to educate an idiot, but what if no one says anything? We all feel guilty then. Saying something or not saying something—either way, it's a downer.

     Give me a funny story over a joke, anytime. My friend Jane once entertained a room full of women for a solid hour, simply telling the story of her husband's purchase of a motor home and their inaugural, and disastrous, first trip. We laughed until we cried, and we didn't want her to stop. There was no punchline, just fascinating details, impeccable delivery, and absurd subject matter.

     My friend Bonnie's dry wit makes me laugh. Heather M's ability to imitate other people, dead-on, makes any story she tells a delight. My friend Kelly can make me laugh with his sheer outrageousness. Don makes me laugh with his silliness. Four-year-old Emma makes me laugh just because she's so darn cute. My husband's stupid practical joke on April Fools' Day makes me laugh. (He put up a sign in the best spot in the corporate parking lot. It read, "This spot reserved for employee of the the month" and then his name.) Lots of things make me laugh. Lots of people make me laugh. Stories make me laugh.

     But I can live without the jokes.

What makes a person funny?

A tiny, rather bedraggled looking teacher stood up to audition for a musical comedy group I was starting. She casually started singing and was obviously not well-prepared. She stopped a couple of times because she had "messed up."

     And yet, when she finished, my first thought was, "I definitely want her!" She was funny. I didn't know why she was funny, but she was.

     Ten years later, the group is going strong, and tiny Teresa is one of the reasons why. Audiences love her—I mean LOVE her. If I had a dollar for every time I've heard, "That short woman is so funny" after a show, I'd be a rich, rich woman.

     But what makes her funny? What makes anyone funny? I'm fascinated with that question. I've been examining it for years, yet I have no solid answers. I have ideas, though....

     One of the most important characteristics is likeability, I think. Teresa definitely has that. Another  is a naturalness of delivery. People who seem natural are much funnier than people who resort to what I call "gagginess." Gagginess involves overdoing, trying too hard, exaggerating when exaggerating isn't necessary.

     I liken gagginess to something we've all seen with children. A toddler will innocently say or do something funny, and everyone laughs. Delighted at the response, the child will do or say the same thing, again and again and again. She's overdoing, of course, and she's no longer funny.

     Another thing that makes a person funny, in many cases, is an ability to deliver silly subject matter with seriousness. That works for Teresa. For example, in one skit she portrays Miss Ellwood, a school guidance counselor who is just sure that the students in an assembly are going to love the "Welk-Tones," a wholesome, corny, hopelessly out-of-date group of singers who exhort the students to just "Be Nice!" She delivers her introduction with deadpan seriousness, and people crack up. There is no self-aware "I'm in on the joke" evident, no irony. She seems to actually become Miss Ellwood.

     I'm still collecting other ideas for what makes a person funny. If anyone else has ideas, I'd love to hear them!